No One Lives Forever
by horrendoushaddock
Summary: Ficlet. Rattrap and Cheetor have a moment. "That's the thing about mournin'. It don't come with an instruction manual."


**No One Lives Forever**

"An' here I thought cats knew t'come in outta the rain."

Rattrap can tell he's caught Cheetor off guard by the way the transmetal cat jerks at his voice, twisting around to face him with wide optics.

"Oh. RT. Hey. I was - I was just getting ready to head back - "

Rattrap's brow raises, and he crosses his arms over his chest as he approaches. Cheetor doesn't make any moves to get up, even when Rattrap's just a few inches away, staring down at him disbelievingly. The stance he's taking is only a mockery of something stern, and soon enough, his arms fall away to his sides and his shoulders shrug.

"You been gone for a few mega-cycles, y'know," Rattrap reminds. "The Boss Monkey started t'worry when it started rainin'." He's moving to sit next to Cheetor now, and he's very much aware of those green optics watching every move he makes. The dirt gives and the mud squelches under his weight as he sits. "Now, I told him you's were a big bot an' could take care of yourself, but, _eh_ , I guess he's afraid you'll rust or somethin'."

Cheetor must catch on that he's at least half joking, because the smallest laugh leaves him, and he shakes his head as he looks down their legs dangling over the cliff's ledge.

"I guess I lost track of time," Cheetor says, and his own shoulders rise and fall in a small shrug.

"It happens. So, what's on your processor, huh?" Rattrap asks, leaning back onto his hands. His fingers idly sift through the mud and grass under his palms, head turned just enough to be able to see the younger bot at his side.

And in that moment, Cheetor looks every bit the kid he is, slouching forward and waving the question off. "Ah, it's nothing. We should probably head back before - " Any attempt he tries to make to get up is intercepted by one smaller silver hand around his wrist. Rattrap's grip is loose, but it still somehow makes him stay.

"Talk t'me, kid."

Cheetor vents deeply, freckled chestplate rising and falling as he sighs. He waits until Rattrap lets go of his wrist before he speaks.

"Things have been different. You know, with… With Dinobot gone."

Rattrap lets out a quiet, breathy ghost of a laugh. He turns his head away from Cheetor, faces the sky. "You're tellin' me," he agrees.

He'd had a feeling when he found Cheetor out here on his own that this may have been what was bothering him. Cheetor is young - too young to be a part of this war - and Dinobot's death is the first he's really experienced. Even if it's been a few weeks, something like that isn't easily forgotten.

"I never thought…"

"That a tough slagger like 'im would get taken out?" Rattrap asks, and he's grinning despite the heavy feeling in his spark. He catches sight of Cheetor nodding from the corner of his optic. "At least he went out on his own terms."

"I guess so," Cheetor mumbles quietly. "But still…"

"I know. It's gonna hurt, and you're gonna miss him - even if he was a pain in the aft."

Jokes aside, not even Rattrap can find it in himself to grin. Regardless of all of the trouble they gave each other, something is missing now that Dinobot is gone. Rattrap doesn't like to think too hard about what that something is, not when he doesn't have any fluid to numb the feelings, to blur the memories.

"Does it ever - I mean..."

Cheetor's struggling with this question, Rattrap can hear it in his voice even if he isn't looking at him. It only takes a few kliks before the rat offers a sad half smile.

"If you're lucky, kid, it'll never get easier," he tells him, and Cheetor's brow wrinkles as he stares at him. "Some of us, we been in this game too long. Others, they take their jobs too serious, y'know? Ya go numb t'all the losses."

Cheetor's expression shifts, and he has to look away. For a long moment, there's no sound between them except the tinkling of the rain falling on them. It's a soft but crisp metallic sound, so out of place in this primitive world.

"...are you numb to it all, RT?"

That grin is back, and Rattrap just shakes his head and sighs. "You'd think so, huh?"

Even though the question isn't answered directly, Cheetor still finds himself smiling just a little at the inadvertent reassurance.

"What're we supposed to do?"

"That's the thing about mournin', Freckles. It don't come with an instruction manual."

Childishly, brows furrow again. "Well… what do _you_ do?"

"Keep on livin'."

"Oh," Cheetor all but breathes the word, as though struck by some sort of epiphany. And maybe he has been, and maybe Rattrap's spared him mega-cycles more of grieving. Rattrap can't be sure, and he'll never ask for any certainties.

"Anyway," Rattrap says suddenly, and he's standing himself up, brushing himself off. "Let's getcha back to base before Optimus goes bananas."

Cheetor catches the grin, even laughs at the bad joke as he, too, stands again.

"Thanks, Ratbreath."

"Don't mention it," Rattrap shrugs before transforming. "I mean that literally, by the way. Word gets out that we had some kinda moment 'bout all this an' I'll be ruined."

Cheetor laughs again, transforms, and the two of them head back to the Axalon.


End file.
